


Furtive - Snow - Dubious

by drvology



Category: Batman (Unspecified canon), Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-10
Updated: 2011-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 20:23:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drvology/pseuds/drvology
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three 'holiday' drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Furtive - Snow - Dubious

**Author's Note:**

> B:TAS is my favorite Batverse incarnation; it's become my default setting when imagining the characters &c. That established, I think the fic I write can be aptly labeled 'canon & time nonspecific.'  
> → Written in an hour for 60_minute_fics challenge group @ LJ || 122906 Prompt #3 _Holiday Leftovers -- Two lists of ten words each. Choose at least 3 words to use in your fic, however you see fit._

**  
_Furtive_   
**

Stolen between the champagne fountain and the buffet laden with god knows what all, lip to lip dry nothing more.

Taken in a shadow of office door swing and hallway slant, time to share an inhale, a regretful push of breath.

Mistletoe within sight--that counts, certainly--quick on cheek behind a poinsettia tree.

Merriment and enforced cheer. Christmas bonuses then extended holidays handed out and everyone's cheer blushes genuine.

Finally--alone--long minutes before Alfred has the car out front.

Bruce kisses Dick, hard, deep, here in the middle of everything, holds tight. Thank you for enduring this with me.

 **  
_Snow_   
**

Glistening, sweet simplicity, sparkle-spins of glacierwhite and slateblue and dovegray.

The scent is clean, pure, nonexistent. More cold than anything, hard-filling his lungs sharp and spreads like ice spider-shot growth in his veins.

Arms from behind--groin, hips, chest--hands smooth over him, warmth just-new from their bed all around. Morning whiskers scratch his cheek, down his neck.

Kisses breathed to his skin; it absorbs, staves off the chill, melts the frost on the glass.

He watches snowflakes flutter-fall, rocks slow in Bruce's arms.

Tonight it will be sullied--tire-churned, dirty-soot, slick hazard beneath their boots--right now, perfect.

 **  
_Dubious_   
**

In the store it had seemed so cool. He'd felt the flare of satisfaction and triumph sizzle through him, knew _this_ was _it_. Gift-wrapped, hidden, then the endlessly imagined receipt and hoped-for response.

Now.

The flare had fizzled. Satisfaction, shot. Triumph defeated.

Dick swallowed fast--too many times--is that nausea or too much eggnog?

Bruce studied him. Dick looked away.

Great whatever it was stupid he knew thanks at least I tried.

Dick flicked his fingers, nervous-quick; I'm going for a cookie.

Bruce stayed him. Dick's very breath was kissed away.

"It's perfect," whispered, against lips, sincere-sweet.

Triumph, returned.


End file.
